Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
by TheSouthernScribe
Summary: The beauty of man is the complexity of his soul.


_Thank you Spockside for your careful eye and attention to detail on this one. Please keep me in line. _

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_Just another little entry from your local Scribe. I hope you enjoy. Remember we are fearfully and wonderfully made and sometimes we just have to stop masking our scars, wounds, and lingering flaws. The beauty in man is the complexity of his soul. There's nothing simple about us. So stop trying to be a shell of who you were created to be..._

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**_Disclaimer: I don't own them or the words of David divinely inspired and listed in Psalms 139:14 (KJV)_**

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_**Fearfully and Wonderfully Made**_

There was an unspoken giant in the room.

If either of them were brutally honest, recent arguments were not about the nights he spent around a poker table after his shift, or if she still harbored unresolved feelings for a past love.

_Fear. _

Regardless of its use as noun or verb, whether transitive or intransitive, every definition for the word was relevant. Between them there lay anxiety, frightening thoughts, worry, and even reverence?

Yes, reverence.

McCoy had been raised a Southern Baptist and the Uhuras were a traditional Protestant religious family that believed in the power of prayer and worship. It was sacrilege to bestow unbridled respect on something or someone other than God.

Yet he stood in awe of her - of what she stirred in his soul.

Once Nyota had plucked a worn leather bound Bible from the shelf. McCoy watched as nimble fingers thumbed through age stained pages. Her eyes lit when she found the scripture she was seeking.

"_I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well." _

She was crying as she closed the book and cradled it tightly to her chest. At the time he didn't understand and an explanation was never offered.

*******

McCoy packed his bag and mulled over his actions. This was the right thing to do. A pang of guilt shot through his chest. He closed his eyes. She would forgive him, eventually. Yes, others had walked out of her life in a similar manner, citing her strength and fierce independence as flaws instead of traits that formed the soul of the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. Whatever it was between them – _it _couldn't work. They were damaged goods. Heartbreaks and disappointments worn on their sleeves like badges of honor. The same badges were physical evidence of survival in countless battles of love and disappointment. Now McCoy was adding another to her list.

His eyes traveled over the bed where they had consummated their feelings for one another. The sanctuary they shared during off hours. The two hid under layers of cotton, trading stories of their youth, loves, and heartaches. It was there that Nyota showed him her scars. She masked them with her haughty smile and ostentatious manner of speaking. He was sure she'd picked the latter up from her time with the Vulcan. Still, her pain was not visible to the untrained eye. They weren't blemishes or marks on the surface of her skin. Nyota's scars ran deep, a legacy of untold misfortunes endured in her short lifetime.

He had watched tear after tear fall from her eyes as she explained her need to stand on her own two feet. Her father's abandonment of their family left her mother unable to function emotionally. The woman threw herself into work and forgot about the importance of nurturing the children who longed not only for their father but the warmth of their mother's arms. Nyota had promised never to allow her life or happiness to depend on a man. The vow was nearly negated with one relationship in particular. A constant cloud that loomed over McCoy's head, because that man was the deepest wound inflicted upon her heart. _Her heart_, his heart, dammit he needed a drink.

"Where are you going?"

His movements stilled at the sound of her voice. He heard them. The words she refused to speak aloud. The emotions she wouldn't express. They were hidden between every syllable, the vowels, and consonants she chose to utter. He knew if he turned her eyes would be full of tears but her chin would be held high, posture perfect, and she'd deny that seeing him prepared to walk out the door threatened the impenetrable armor fortifying her heart. Lust and desire did not keep her tied to him, it was necessity. If McCoy was honest the same held true for him – he _wanted_ her but her love was required.

Instead of calling Nyota on her bullshit display and admitting his weakness, McCoy clutched his bag, kissed her forehead, and walked to the door.

Taking the coward's way out.

*******

Nyota stepped into her worst nightmare when she entered their quarters. She watched as he hesitated with each movement before he finally placed his shaving kit in the bag. He was leaving. Giving up and walking away. It was foolish to think he could stay and they would be together. It wasn't a healthy relationship. They were tainted goods. She tried to be his strong tower but failed. He had exchanged one vice for another; alcohol for the girl whose eyes saw straight through his soul. Now her hand replaced the bottle that he once held clutched tightly to his chest. For her he apologized for the words her father never spoke. He loved her in a way that the men in her past had not. It was raw and uncensored. It was drenched in pain. It busted down the walls and flooded her soul with happiness, strength, love, and on occasion an indescribable ache that came when he shut her out. Loving him had never been easy. Yet now, facing his departure, she wasn't ready to stop.

How did she tell him that?

In her mind Nyota saw the image of her mother crumpled on the floor, sobbing, pleading, for a man to stay when his desires were elsewhere. She had vowed never to become that woman. She hadn't done it with Spock or any man that preceded him, but right now, in this space, her legs had a mind of their own and they threatened to pull her to the ground. The wail was prepared to leave her lips. He was worth that much and she knew it.

He brushed past her, connecting for a split second with her shoulder, and the tears started. She willed them to end. With her head held high and her shoulders square she sought strength in the face of pain that threatened to cripple her. Leonard had been the first to acknowledge her pain. He never promised not to disappoint her. There were no pledges of whirlwind romance and nights filled with passion.

_Some days I'll fuck up. _

The words had made her smile at the time. He was honest. He was unafraid to share the broken pieces of his life, and in return she had done the same.

Nyota's eyes lingered on his frame at the door. Her mouth opened, "Please." It was the only word she said as the tears stained her face.

*******

Decisions made out of irrational fear birthed anguish, despair, and in time, regret.

Her tears…

Her pleas ripped the scar tissue from past wounds.

He was open and bare before her. Vulnerable to this woman and the love she offered. He saw the same thoughts reflected in her eyes.

There were no excuses; he would not leave her to drown in her tears. He couldn't – he wouldn't lose her.

Without another word McCoy held Nyota and cherished the blessing in his arms. Now he understood.

"We are fearfully and wonderfully made." He allowed his hands to brush the tears from her eyes.


End file.
